


Automatic Heartache

by plaguehaver



Series: Whumptober 2019 [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Eye Gouging, Eye Trauma, M/M, MAG 154 Spoilers, Mild Gore, Shaky Hands, Slight Monster!Jon, Whumptober 2019, descriptions of eye trauma, whumptober day 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 10:21:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaguehaver/pseuds/plaguehaver
Summary: Jon wants to leave, so he takes some drastic measures. It doesn't quite go how he expected it to.





	Automatic Heartache

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober Day 1! Prompt: Shaky Hands.  
First TMA fic! This took wayy longer than it should've but it's been a _while_ since I've written fic.  
Make sure to check out [this awesome art by @littlebluejaydraws](https://littlebluejaydraws.tumblr.com/post/187906015870/since-we-all-know-how-well-the-whole) that this was based on!  
Title from [Autoheart's "The Sailor Song."](https://genius.com/Autoheart-the-sailor-song-lyrics)

He would do it. He would. He _had_ to. Jon could feel the anticipation of it running through his veins, drumming like a heartbeat under his skin. The corkscrew was light in his hand, so much lighter than it should've been. Finding it again had been a challenge- certainly due to The Eye. He doubted that it would want Jon, would want _The Archivist_ to remove himself from the institute so permanently. The corkscrew was tucked under the cot in the back room of Martin's old office. He tried not to think about that too much.

Sterilizing it had been easy, the flame of his lighter doing the trick, with its familiar weight and its web insignia now worn with use. Jon unlocked his phone with a swipe, typing in the number for an ambulance but stopping just short before hitting "dial." He moved important papers to the edges of his desk, hand clutching the corkscrew like a lifeline when it was anything but. Like clockwork, the tape recorder next to him came to life with a soft whirr, and Jon knew that he couldn't delay it any longer.

The light from his desk lamp glinted menacingly off of the spiral of the corkscrew, and Jon felt his throat dry up. He brought the corkscrew up to his face, level with his eyes, and thought of Martin. Jon Knew he was sitting in Elias’s old office upstairs, and more than Knowing, he knew his pain, his worry, his hopelessness. Jon knew the wrinkles on his forehead that didn’t used to be there before, the scars, the mental ones worst of all. Jon knew Martin, and he knew that he could save him, could save all of them. The tip of the corkscrew was centimeters away from his eye now, his hands shaking violently around it, and his phone screen went dark.

With one sharp jerk of his wrist, he did it. The scream Jon let out must’ve been horrible, but he couldn’t hear it. The only sensation left for him was the unspeakable agony of the spiraling metal ripping into the soft meat of his right eye. The white-hot heat overcame him, and he nearly didn’t notice the warm, wet flesh of the delicate organ hitting his face as he pulled it out. Unable to turn back now, he quickly plunged the screw into his left eye, pulling it out just as hastily.

With the second one done, the pain was unimaginable, but the agonizing sensation of _tearing_ somewhere deep within him was even worse. A connection was severed, and Jon was falling, crashing, coming apart at the seams. Air was sucked from his lungs, and he could feel the very bonds in his molecules coming apart. Every single atom in his body seemed to be trying to shoot away from each other at lightspeed. His brain felt empty, his mouth sapped of words and his body of any feeling besides pain, pain, _pain_.

And then it slowed down. The physical pain, yes that continued, but slowly, the molten discorporation of his very being seemed to trickle to a stop. It was replaced by an itch, a slow, torturous itch at the front of his mind- somewhere in his corneas. Carefully and ever-so-slowly, Jon could feel compounds reforming, microscopic proteins aligning into delicate strands of tissue weaving together inside his skull.

This couldn't be happening, _dear god_ this wasn't supposed to happen. It was supposed to work. This was supposed to be the end. Jon's eyes regrew from the back forwards, the white-hot pain of before being replaced by a persistent ache reminiscent of his scars from Jude Perry and Jane Prentiss. The darkness surrounding him gradually lessened, first showing the dim yellow light of the office, then manifesting blurry shapes as the rods and cones in his new eyes formed

When they were finally finished, the world seemed to be in even sharper focus than before, the cracked skin of his hands, the glint of light off of the pool of blood slowly seeping into the wood of his desk. Even as red swam in his vision, Jon could See everything in perfect detail, perhaps the Eye's idea of a punishment for his rebellion. He thought again of Martin, sitting up in his office as Jon failed to remove himself from the being that had ruled over his life for so many years now. He found himself wishing that severing his connection with the Eye had killed him. Jon let out a hoarse laugh at the idea of adding another Entity to his list of scars.

No longer was the world crashing down around him, and no longer was his hunger gone. In fact, he was _starving_. He needed something, anything, but the statements on his desk were too bloodied to be read, and Jon didn’t think that he could even gain enough control over his muscle movement at this point to pick one up. Even as he heard the sound of rapid footsteps approaching his office door, he couldn’t find it in him to try to put up any defenses.

The door swung open to reveal a panicked Martin, out of breath and red in the face.

”Jon! What are you-” Martin’s hand clapped over his mouth as he stared at the scene before him in horror. “Jon, oh god.” The Archivist before him was a mess. Soft, wet clumps of red and black tissue swam in the still-expanding pool of blood on the desk below him. His cheeks were a maelstrom of too-red blood mingled with tears. His hands shook violently, his burnt, bloodied palm still clutching the corkscrew. Jon looked up at him, blood still clouding and dripping down out of his eyes.

”I suppose it’s for the best you didn’t agree, Martin.” He said, his voice a rough croak. “Would have made this a bit awkward if you had said yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I won't be doing every Whumptober prompt but I'll certainly be doing more, and perhaps some Weirdtober as well. Visit my writing blog, [@plague-haver](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/plague-haver) or my personal, [@thedominoswizard](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thedominoswizard), and if you ignored the link at the beginning, make sure to check out the [fuckin' awesome art by @littlebluejaydraws](https://littlebluejaydraws.tumblr.com/post/187906015870/since-we-all-know-how-well-the-whole) that this was based on.


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